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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507501">The Best Offer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley'>mareyshelley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Agoraphobia, F/M, Film AU, OCD, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:15:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when an esteemed auctioneer and art collector, gets outbid by an elusive and enigmatic young heiress?<br/>Nominated for Best Movie AU and Best RCIJ in the 2021 TEAs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/gifts">TheStraggletag</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my Secret Santa for TheStraggletag! The prompt was <em>The Best Offer AU</em>. It's only loosely based on/inspired by the film, but I hope you like it. And a big thank you to Maplesyrup for beta'ing this whole thing.<br/>Nominated for Best Movie AU and Best RCIJ in the 2021 TEAs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The trick was simple. It hadn’t failed him in almost twenty years. Gold would appraise the paintings, attributing them to a lesser-known artist or declaring them a forgery.</p><p>“Yes,” he would say. “It’s very fine work, but nothing of any consequence. It won’t reach much.”</p><p>When the time of the auction came, Jefferson would sit amongst the buyers, always in a different seat and always in a different suit. No one had ever recognised him. He bid on the paintings for a significantly lower price than their real worth, and Gold would pay him for his trouble.</p><p>He’d amassed quite the collection that way. There was only one painting he’d ever lost, one Jefferson hadn’t been quite quick enough to bid on, but that was in the early days. Now they’d narrowed their technique down to a fine art in its own right, almost worthy of the portraits he collected.</p><p>Gold stood at the head of the auction room, scanning his dark eyes over the crowd as the first piece of art was brought out. It was nothing special, and neither was the next piece. A couple of portraits painted by apprentices in the late 19th century. He’d seen their like before. With any luck, the only portrait of value would get lost among the mediocre paintings, and go unnoticed.</p><p>He spotted Jefferson in the crowd, hidden towards the back in a rather bland, cotton-blend suit, and began the bidding.</p><p>The first round of paintings sold quickly, reaching little more than the estimates he’d given, and then came the Rembrandt. The porter wheeled it out, holding carefully onto the wooden frame. The poor frame would hopefully work in his favour.</p><p>“17th Century, but only a Rembrandt copy, I’m afraid,” Gold began. “Attributed to an unknown student who, by the looks of it, needed more practice.”</p><p>Quiet laughter spread through the room, and Gold smiled too, although he wasn’t smiling with them. His Storybrooke auction house was famed for its high standards, and everyone trusted his authentications without question. That gave him a lot of power, when everyone was so eager to agree with him.</p><p>“Shall we begin the bidding at…” He waved his hand dismissively. “A thousand?”</p><p>The bidding climbed slowly. One thousand became two, two-fifty, three. Jefferson waited until interest began to slow, and then a bidder joined on the phone. </p><p>The woman on the phone raised her hand, mouthed the bidder’s offer, and Gold’s fingers tightened around the gavel. The leather of his gloves creaked.</p><p>“Twenty thousand on the phone,” he said out loud. </p><p>Jefferson raised his paddle, a slight frown on his usually cheery face.</p><p>“Thirty,” Gold called.</p><p>He saw the moment interest sparked in the eyes of the crowd. A few muttered to the person beside them, others looked a little more closely, a little more intently at the painting. It wasn’t a well-known portrait. The woman’s face looking out calmly from the canvas wouldn’t be recognised, but this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The phone bidder continued to bid, bumped higher by the piqued interest of the crowd. Jefferson tried to join in, to get the highest bid, but the anonymous bidder on the phone outbid him every time.</p><p>A silence fell over everyone the higher the number rose; a ridiculously high price for a painting which he himself had declared a copy, and a poor one at that. It was too much. It was too high for a portrait that had only been painted by a student, and not Rembrandt himself.</p><p>The phone bidder <em> had </em> to know the truth.</p><p>His suspicions were confirmed when the woman taking the call raised her hand, and again mouthed the bidder’s offer.</p><p>
  <em> How did they know? </em>
</p><p>“A million,” Gold declared.</p><p>It was too much. Far too much. Jefferson shook his head, and Gold silently agreed.</p><p>“Sold,” he said stiffly, clacking down the gavel with finality. “To the bidder on the phone.”</p><hr/><p>“Of all the paintings to lose,” Gold muttered. He paced the length of his office, gripping his cane like he meant to use it as a weapon.</p><p>“There’ll be others,” Jefferson assured him, ever the laid-back voice of reason. It was infuriating. “We can’t win them all.”</p><p>“Of course we can!” he snapped. “We always do. This was an original. An authentic Rembrandt. It was worth far more than <em> one </em> million.”</p><p>“Not always.”</p><p>Gold stopped pacing. He turned to Jefferson, where he leaned back against Gold’s own desk and inspected a rather lovely anniversary clock. 18th Century, silver. Gold frowned and took it from him. The things in his office weren’t toys. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d told Jefferson that.</p><p>Tucking the cane into the crook of his arm, Gold inspected the clock for marks.</p><p>“What are you talking about?” he asked, pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket. He carefully wiped the clock’s glass case and returned it to its place on the mantelpiece.</p><p>Jefferson shrugged. “We don’t always win.”</p><p>Gold lined the clock up, placed precisely an inch away from the edge.</p><p>“One failure is hardly a precedent,” he reminded, and carefully folded the handkerchief back up to return it to his pocket. “We haven’t lost one since the first.”</p><p>“And now we’ve lost two.”</p><p>“Not yet.” He stepped back, listening to the soft ticking of the clock. “I haven’t lost this one yet.”</p><p>Sending Jefferson away, Gold called in his assistant. He needed a list; a list of all that day’s buyers and their contact information, if they'd left any. David was a quick and efficient assistant and had the list with him within moments. Many of them were art dealers and collectors whose names he recognised, but one stood out. The name of the phone bidder wasn’t a name Gold had heard before.</p><p>Thanking David, he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the phone. He had to move fast if he wanted that painting before the new owner was contacted by another collector.</p><p>Things moved quickly in the world of art and antiques.</p><p>Flexing his fingers, Gold entered the buyer’s number and held the phone up near his ear. It rang several times, and he almost expected to go through to an answer machine, but then there was a quiet click. It took another moment more before the person on the other end actually answered.</p><p>“Hello?” a woman said. The voice was gentle, and something in Gold softened.</p><p>“Miss French,” he began, talking calmer than he normally would. “I’m calling on behalf of Gold Auctions.” She didn’t respond. He frowned. “In Storybrooke.”</p><p>“Yes,” the woman whispered. “Yes, I know it. Is this about the painting?”</p><p>“Indeed it is. I was wondering if you had any plans to sell it on?”</p><p>Again, there was a pause before she responded. Gold found himself wondering who she was. Her voice was timid, and he began to picture a small, lonely old woman, surrounded by a collection of art and very little else.</p><p>“I know your voice,” she said, a hint of a smile in her tender tone. “You’re the auctioneer.”</p><p>Gold cleared his throat and fixed his tie. “I’m not calling to talk about myself, Miss French. I asked you about the painting.”</p><p>“The Rembrandt copy,” she said knowingly, her voice a little less quiet than before. “You didn’t seem very interested in it when you announced it.”</p><p>“I… I’m not. I have another client who inquired about it.”</p><p>She hummed, but said nothing else. If he didn’t know any better, and Gold liked to think he knew people quite well, he’d say that she didn’t believe him.</p><p>“Surely, if it’s worth nothing, no client would be willing to pay more than I paid for it,” she reasoned. “And I’m not willing to part with the portrait at a loss.”</p><p>“That’s part of the risk you took,” Gold sniffed. “When you spent so much on a mere copy.”</p><p>“If it’s only a copy, why does your client want it so much?”</p><p>Gold fought the urge to snap. She sounded like the sort of woman who would burst into tears at the slightest rise of his voice. That didn’t mean he would give in. It just meant he had to be careful about how he played things.</p><p>With a sigh, he sat at his desk and tried to pull back his mounting frustration.</p><p>“Are you willing to sell the portrait or not, Miss French?” he asked calmly.</p><p>He heard movement on the other end, something similar to paper rustling.</p><p>“If you want me to sell you an original Rembrandt,” she said once the shuffling had stopped, “then maybe we should meet in person.”</p><p>Gold scoffed.</p><p>“If you’re willing to sell my client the <em> copy, </em> then you’re more than welcome to come to my office and--”</p><p>“No!” she cut him off abruptly. She didn’t sound amused anymore. She sounded panicked. “No, that isn’t a good idea. You should come here. To me.”</p><p>“To your office?”</p><p>“I don’t have an office,” she said quietly. “Everything I have is in my home. We can meet there.”</p><p>Gold flexed his gloved hand and frowned. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’d paid a ridiculous price for a portrait that should now be hanging in his private collection, the impertinent little thing expected him to traipse off to who knew where, just to get his own property back.</p><p>“Mr. Gold?” she asked, her softly accented voice closer to the phone.</p><p>He couldn’t refuse her offer.</p><p>“Fine,” he conceded. “You better give me your address.”</p><hr/><p>He left his car and locked it, unlocked it, then locked it again. Miss French’s home, thankfully, had a quiet drive with no house too close by. It wasn’t likely that someone would come along and attempt to steal his car. It was a black Cadillac Brougham, 1990, in pristine condition. Modern cars were like most modern things; they didn’t run nearly as well as the classics.</p><p>After pulling on the handle three times, to make sure it was locked, Gold tucked the keys safely into his overcoat pocket, and strode up the drive to her home.</p><p>It was much larger than he’d expected, and at one time it would have been a lovely Georgian building, but now it looked as though no one had lived there for years. The large, 18th century windows on the ground floor were boarded up, and surrounded by a white, crumbling facade. The only indication that anyone had ever lived there were the dead plants in the front garden.</p><p>He checked the address again. This couldn’t be where the bidder lived. Anyone willing to spend a million on a potential Rembrandt copy surely couldn’t own such a drab, decaying place. But as hurriedly as he’d scribbled down the road name, this had to be the place.</p><p>Knocking three times, Gold took a step back and checked his gloves. They were a simple black that day, to match the deep blues and black of his suit. It was important that he chose his wardrobe with care. He needed to make an impression, and black had always given him an air of intimidation. Which was exactly what he needed when doing business.</p><p>He dusted off his knuckles and turned his attention back to the door. No one had answered.</p><p>Frowning, Gold knocked three times more and looked up at the windows. The morning light reflected off most of them, preventing him from seeing anything of the inside. If someone was watching him, he wouldn’t be able to see.</p><p>“Miss French?” he called through the door.</p><p>A shuffling came from the other side, a string of muttered words, and then a thump.</p><p>“Miss French?”</p><p>“I can’t find the key,” she told him hurriedly. “I must have lost it.”</p><p>Gold leaned closer. Her voice was no less quieter than it had been on the phone, and he strained to hear her on the other side of the door.</p><p>“Don’t you have another?” he asked.</p><p>“I don’t,” she said firmly.</p><p><em> Odd woman</em>, he thought.</p><p>Flexing his fingers, Gold straightened up and scowled at the door. It wasn’t quite the same as frowning at the woman herself, but he had an odd feeling that she could see him all the same.</p><p>“I don’t conduct business through locked doors, Miss French.”</p><p>“I didn’t expect you to. I’m sorry. It’s… it’s been a hard day.”</p><p>Some of his ire faded away.</p><p>“Has it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to check on his car. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He waited for her to elaborate, to offer more than a single, whispered word, but she offered nothing more. She remained silent, hidden behind the front door with its chipping black paint.</p><p>Sighing, Gold opened his mouth to speak, but he heard something creak from within the house. The floorboards, perhaps, or possibly the door itself.</p><p>“Why do you wear those gloves?” she asked, closer to the door now.</p><p>He glanced down at his hands, stretched his fingers into the reassuring covering of the leather, and shrugged.</p><p>“Basic hygiene,” he dismissed. “Shall we talk about the painting?”</p><p>“You locked your car several times.”</p><p>“Three times,” he corrected.</p><p>“Three times,” she agreed gently. “So it isn’t only cleanliness you’re worried about, but… safety?”</p><p>Gold’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t oblivious to the strange glances he received when he refused to remove his gloves. Many people seemed to take it as an insult, or an eccentricity, when he kept his gloves on to shake their hands. That this woman, hidden in her ruined home, would be rude enough to bring it up told him all he needed to know about her.</p><p>“I came here to talk about my painting,” he said tersely.</p><p>“Your painting? I had no idea Rembrandt was still alive.”</p><p>“If you’re going to mock, Miss French, I will leave.”</p><p>“Fine, but if you walk away, then you’ll never know what became of <em> your </em> painting. Won’t that bother you?”</p><p><em> Odd and infuriating</em>, he decided.</p><p>Aware that she likely had some way to watch him from behind the door, Gold made a show of pulling out his pocket watch. Gold, ivory face, late Edwardian, and not a second too fast or too slow. He’d repaired it himself.</p><p>“I have other meetings this afternoon. I’ll come back next week,” he said, returning the watch to his inner pocket. “Hopefully by then you’ll have found your one key, Miss French.”</p><p>“Belle,” she whispered, ignoring everything else he’d said. “I saw a photo of you on your website. Do you always carry that watch?”</p><p>“How else would I know the time?”</p><p>“Most people use their cellphones,” she teased.</p><p>“I don’t have a phone. I don’t like… I’ll see you next week, Miss French.”</p><p>Turning on his heel, and wondering what it was about her sweet voice that made it so easy to talk to her, to allow her to distract him and lower his guard, Gold retreated to his car. If she’d said anything else, her voice was too quiet for him to hear.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His second visit to the French house was no less unusual than the first. Which wasn’t entirely surprising. In the week following his first meeting with Belle, if it could be called that, Gold had made some enquiries. None of his colleagues knew of a collector named Belle French, but they did know of a Moe French.</p><p>David found an old article about the man from nearly twenty years before. He’d been a collector, and a forger. That answered at least one of Gold’s questions.</p><p>If this Moe French was related to Belle, then it made sense for her to know the difference between a copy and an original.</p><p>“Do you think he’s still making forgeries?” David had asked, frowning with concern.</p><p>“No,” Gold assured him. “I came across his name last week, that’s all.”</p><p>Then his next appointment with Belle had come around, and he found himself driving up to her house with piqued interest. Not just in the painting, but in the strange woman who had seen through his lie when none of the so-called experts around him had.</p><p>The French home didn’t look any cleaner or any more inviting than it had the week before, but the sun was out, and that did something to brighten the place up.</p><p>A woman waved at his car as he pulled into the drive, and came over to greet him. Gold gripped the wheel a little tighter, convincing himself not to turn the key and drive away.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and pushed forward a smile. She was tall, with dark hair and heavy make up. Her looks alone were enough to tell him that this wasn’t Belle, but her voice gave her away more than anything.</p><p>“You’re Gold, right?” She wasn’t timid. Her voice wasn’t softly accented. It didn’t distract him from his need to lock, unlock, and lock his car again, or to try the handle three times before he turned to her.</p><p>“Belle said you were coming today,” she added.</p><p>“Is Miss French here?” He glanced towards the house, but the doors were still firmly shut. It was just him and this stranger who hadn’t bothered to introduce herself.</p><p>“She, ah... can’t come to the door right now,” she explained, shaking her head apologetically. “She’s a bit of a recluse. But I’m Ruby.” Ruby held out her hand and smiled. “She asked me to meet you.”</p><p>Gold stared at the offered hand, flexing his own gloved fingers down by his side. When she made no move to retract her handshake, he reached out tentatively to grasp it.</p><p>“Is there a reason she can’t meet me herself?” he asked, taking his hand back.</p><p>Like so many people when first meeting him, Ruby had a bemused frown on her face when she saw his gloves and how quickly he ended their handshake. She didn’t comment on it, but the question was there in her eyes all the same.</p><p>He adjusted his cane and planted it firmly in front of himself, between him and her.</p><p>“She asked me to give you this.” Ruby reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a key. Gold reached into his own pocket and took out his handkerchief. He wrapped the key and Ruby’s frown deepened.</p><p>“Belle said you could let yourself in.”</p><p>“Is she incapable of unlocking a door?” he asked.</p><p>Ruby made a face, looked him over, and smiled.</p><p>“I think you’ll understand.”</p><p>With that, she left him with his key and even more questions than he arrived with. He’d expected her to walk with him to the door; to perhaps show him around or to escort him to one of the rooms to meet with Belle. But she walked the other way, down the drive and off onto the street.</p><p>Sighing through his nose, Gold wiped off the key and went to the front door. He tried knocking, not quite brave enough to let himself into someone else’s house, but there was no response. He knocked again, three times, and when the house remained silent, he tried the lock.</p><p>The door opened easily, with a sharp click and a groan of the hinges.</p><p>“Miss French?”</p><p>The outside of the house had been deceptive. He’d expected the place to be covered in cobwebs and dust sheets, if there was any salvageable furniture left at all, but what he found was the exact opposite. The house was fully furnished, free of dust, and definitely lived in.</p><p>Old lace curtains hung over the boarded up windows. A red, worn carpet covered the stairs, and vases of flowers, all of them alive and bright with colour, filled the room with their sweet scent. He’d expected the awful smell of dust and mildew, not the crispness of fresh flowers.</p><p>A grandfather clock stood in the entryway, just off to the right. Mid-19th Century Victorian, red oak with fruit wood inlays. Gold traced his fingers over the lines in the grain. It was a wonderful piece, and still in working order. He leaned closer, to listen to the swing of the pendulum and ticking of the gears.</p><p><em> Perfect</em>.</p><p>“Mr. Gold?”</p><p>He turned in the direction of the voice, expecting to find Belle by the stairs, but no one was there.</p><p>“Hello?” he called out, stepping closer.</p><p>“Please… Don’t come upstairs.” Her voice cracked.</p><p>Gold stopped at the bottom of the staircase, his foot on the first step.</p><p>“Are you coming down?” he asked.</p><p>The stairs rose up in front of him, then swept off to the side in a great U-shape. He couldn’t see the top, but he heard the shuffle of footsteps on the carpet.</p><p>“I thought we could talk like this,” she said at last. It was only the quiet questioning tone of her voice that kept him from snapping.</p><p>Frowning, Gold glanced around the hall, then leaned forward and craned his neck, trying to see upstairs.</p><p>“Please don’t,” she insisted. “Don’t you want to talk about your painting?”</p><p>He frowned.</p><p>“I don’t do business with people who refuse to show their face. Why invite me here if you had no intention of meeting me?” he insisted.</p><p>More silence met him, with only the ticking of the grandfather clock to fill it. He flexed his hand over his cane and looked down at the key in his other hand, the handle of it still covered by his handkerchief.</p><p>“I wanted to see you again,” Belle answered, her voice even quieter than before.</p><p>Gold scoffed.</p><p>“Is this some sort of joke?” he questioned, holding the key up. He might not have been able to see her, but he knew she had some way of seeing him.</p><p>She didn’t answer, and he dropped his hand with a frustrated growl.</p><p>“It seems I’ve had another wasted journey. Goodbye, Miss French.”</p><p>Turning on his heel, Gold made for the door, and was almost halfway there before she finally spoke.</p><p>“No! Please don’t go.”</p><p>“Then what should I do, Miss French? Don’t go upstairs. Don’t leave. If this is how you conduct your business, then it’s no wonder no one’s heard of you.”</p><p>She didn’t respond, and he knew immediately that he shouldn’t have raised his voice. His shoulders slumped and he gripped his cane as he made his way back to the stairs.</p><p>When she continued to say nothing, Gold sighed and looked up.</p><p>“Come down here, or I will leave and I won’t come back,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady.</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>“Miss French--”</p><p>“I can’t! I can’t come down. Just… Please, just stay there.”</p><p>Panic wavered in her tone, breaking her usually calm quietness. She wasn’t being difficult, Gold realised, and she wasn’t shy. He’d never known someone to be so shy that they couldn’t bear being in the same room as someone else, but he did know the anxiety of meeting people. He knew it very well.</p><p>“Are you afraid of meeting new people?” he asked carefully.</p><p>More shuffling sounded from the top of the staircase, and a step creaked as if she was slowly edging her way down.</p><p>“Yes,” she whispered, so faintly that it was almost as quiet as her light footsteps on the stairs.</p><p>“They why agree to meet me?”</p><p>“I’ve read about you and your… <em> eccentricities</em>. I thought you’d understand.”</p><p>Her friend had said the same. <em> I think you’ll understand</em>. Did he understand? Her level of anxiety was certainly stronger than his own, but not so much that he didn’t know how she felt. </p><p>“I do,” he admitted.</p><p>The steps creaked again, and Gold leaned forward. He still couldn’t see the top steps, but he somehow knew she was there.</p><p>“You know the painting is an original,” she said matter-of-factly, but not accusingly. It was a simple statement, and a clear change of subject. “Why did you lie?”</p><p>Gold shrugged with his hand and rested them both on top of his cane.</p><p>“How can you be sure it isn’t a copy?” he threw back.</p><p>“Is it some sort of con?” she asked, ignoring his own question.</p><p>He gripped his cane tight.</p><p>“You’re mistaken.”</p><p>“I won’t be mad if it’s a con,” she promised sweetly. “I just want to know why you do it.”</p><p>Admitting to his and Jefferson’s trick would be the same as admitting to a crime. It <em> was </em> a con. It wasn’t quite as awful as the forgeries Moe French had sold for millions; Jefferson’s bids meant that no one else spent a penny, but he was well aware that most people would view them no differently. So he remained quiet, and for once it was Belle that filled the silence.</p><p>“My father was a collector, and a con artist. Look around you.”</p><p>Gold did as she said, looking from the vases of flowers, the ticking grandfather clock, a large, ornate mirror, and back up the sweeping staircase. He saw a pale hand, small and slender, curl around the banister at the top.</p><p>“I come from a long line of collectors,” she continued. “They loved to collect art, not for the art itself, but for the money. There was no love for the work itself.”</p><p>He nodded wordlessly. What could he say to her open admission that Moe French was her father, and that the amassed wealth used to pay for her home had all come from his scams?</p><p>“But I saw some interviews with you online,” Belle added.</p><p>“On our website.”</p><p>“Yes.” There was the hint of a smile in her voice. “You trick people, like my father did, but you obviously know a lot about the art. You have an admiration for it. I don’t think you buy it to sell at an inflated price, you must keep it for yourself, so… why trick people?”</p><p>Gold found himself smiling. Perhaps he’d been too quick to brush her off as infuriating.</p><p>“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” he said. “And observant.”</p><p>“I’m good at reading people,” she agreed, but she sounded more uncertain than boastful. “It helps with my writing.”</p><p>“You like to write?”</p><p>“I like to try.”</p><p>The hand on the banister moved a little lower, and the steps creaked. Gold edged forward, leaning on his cane to keep him from losing his balance and toppling onto the stairs.</p><p>“What do you like to write?” he asked.</p><p>“Short stories, mostly. I sometimes publish them. Under a pseudonym.”</p><p>“You don’t want to be known?” he asked. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t see any more than her hand. His old image of her being a lonely old lady was quickly being replaced by a young woman, living alone in a home too big for her, while she wrote her stories and admired her art.</p><p>“No. I just love stories,” she muttered, interrupting his daydream. “Tell me something you love?”</p><p>Gold leaned back. People rarely asked him what he liked. They took it for granted that, as an auctioneer, he loved antiques and art. That was true, but they didn’t imagine him having a life outside of that, and they weren’t entirely wrong.</p><p>He glanced around the entrance, looking for an answer to give her that wasn’t so mundane, and his eyes returned to the grandfather clock. He wouldn’t normally talk about himself, or the way his mind worked, but if he understood her, then she likely understood him.</p><p>“Clocks,” he said. “The mechanisms of them. The precision.”</p><p>“Everything fits together perfectly. Even the smallest parts,“ she agreed. Gold found his smile returning, and his desire to see her grew. “So that’s why you carry the pocket watch, but why don’t you want a phone? Technology has its own precision.”</p><p>“I can’t understand technology,” he said, in a tone that usually brokered no further questions. But Belle was determined. She wasn’t as easily silenced as the people he worked with.</p><p>“You should get a phone,” she told him decidedly. He could almost imagine her firm nod at her own words. “Then we could talk more.”</p><p>Gold adjusted his grip on his cane. His leg was starting to ache.</p><p>“I’m sure you have more interesting people to talk to,” he dismissed.</p><p>“Do you want to sit down?”</p><p>Clenching his jaw, Gold glanced down at the stairs. A part of him itched at the idea of sitting where someone walked, but his leg could use the rest. He shifted his weight from his cane to his other leg, and sighed.</p><p>Despite outward appearances, Belle’s home seemed very tidy.</p><p>“I didn’t like to ask,” he answered.</p><p>Belle waited for him to sit. He relied a little more on his cane than he would have liked, to lower himself onto the bottom steps, but Belle didn’t comment on it. She carried on talking as if she didn’t mind his need for a walking stick.</p><p>“Did you see any of my neighbours on your way here?” she asked.</p><p>“No. Should I have?”</p><p>“They’re not really people I could talk to. I think one’s a doctor.” The top steps creaked. “He walks his dog in the morning, goes to work, and comes back in the evening. He seems nice, but he’s too busy to talk.”</p><p>“And the others?”</p><p>“There’s a woman. Mal-something. She... She looks very fierce, and I think she knows the mayor,” Belle continued. </p><p>“She knows Regina very well,” Gold muttered.</p><p>“Then there’s Ruby’s girlfriend. I haven’t met her, but I see her outside sometimes. She seems nice.”</p><p>Gold frowned.</p><p>“Why can’t you talk to her?” he asked.</p><p>There was a pause. The hand moved from the banister, and Gold regretted asking until he finally heard her voice.</p><p>“I don’t like going to the door,” she whispered.</p><p> “So you people-watch instead,” Gold concluded. Belle didn’t answer, but he didn’t need her to. “Are you watching me?”</p><p>“Yes...” she admitted quietly.</p><p>Gold sat a little straighter and fixed his tie.</p><p>“Well, then.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me more about your neighbours?”</p><hr/><p>“You’re married, aren’t you?”</p><p>David stopped on his way out of Gold’s office. Gold didn’t look up from his desk. He didn’t need to see the look on his assistant’s face to know that he’d either been confused, or amused.</p><p>“Yeah,” David said, closing the door and stepping back into the room. “For nearly two years now.”</p><p>Gold didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure why he was asking, but David looked at him expectantly and smiled.</p><p>“Good,” Gold offered, turning back to his work.  “That’s good.”</p><p>There was a pause. For a moment, he expected David to take the silence as a hint and leave, but then he pulled forward the chair in front of Gold’s desk and sat down.</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Do I need a reason to ask you a question?”</p><p>“We’ve worked together for over a year and you’ve never asked about Mary Margaret.”</p><p>It wasn’t a rebuttal, Gold knew that. David’s eyes always danced with amusement when he was trying to tease him. But Gold wasn’t in the mood to be teased.</p><p> “Come on,” David pressed, leaning his elbows on the desk. “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s nothing, Mr. Nolan.”</p><p>His first instinct was to lean back and shoo David’s arms off his desk, his second was to look anywhere but at David’s pleased smile. The second won. Gold gathered up his papers and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It ticked away smoothly, and told him that it was almost time for his next auction. This conversation wouldn’t last for long.</p><p>“Do you want to get married?” David asked.</p><p>“Thank you for the offer, but I think your wife might object.”</p><p>David laughed and Gold looked up, frowning.</p><p>“So there is someone you want to talk about?” David’s voice was frustratingly calm and serious. It was almost as if he genuinely wanted to know, as if he genuinely… cared. “Do you need advice?</p><p>Gold scoffed. “Of course not.”</p><p>In the past few weeks of visiting Belle, Gold still hadn’t seen her face. It was presumptive to think that she might be interested in anything more than the tenuous friendship they’d carefully crafted. She’d seen him. If she wanted anything more, she would have given some hint by now. That wasn’t to say he didn’t need some guidance in how to be a friend. If his lack of knowledge about his own assistant’s private life was anything to go by, Gold certainly needed any advice David was willing to give him.</p><p>“Not for me,” Gold added warily. “I have a friend who… might need some advice, though.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?” David asked, smiling slowly and knowingly.</p><p>“Yes. He met someone a few weeks ago, through work.” Setting all of his papers to one side, Gold gripped his cane and stood up. He couldn’t sit idly while he had this conversation. “And they’ve become friends, of a sort. Mostly they just talk. But that’s a friendship, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Right.” David nodded in understanding, watching him, but didn’t stand up when Gold began to pace.</p><p>“But is there a way of knowing, without a doubt, that she… likes him… back?” Gold asked.</p><p>He sounded like an idiot. It only increased his urge to run right out of the office door and pretend the whole conversation had never happened. His leather gloves creaked against the tight grip he held his cane in, as he paced around to David’s side of the desk. David only sat back, looking thoughtful, and seemed oblivious to Gold’s unease.</p><p>“She must have given some hint already. What have they talked about?”</p><p>Gold threw up a hand.</p><p>“Mostly art and antiques. She’s a collector.” He smiled. “She has some beautiful pieces.”</p><p>“Wait, you-- he’s been to her house?”</p><p>Gold hesitated. “She gave him a key.”</p><p>“That sounds like a fairly big hint to me.” David sat back with a smile, and shrugged as though it was a no-brainer. “You don’t give a key to someone you don’t like.”</p><p>Gold stopped pacing. David still smiled, as if he <em> knew </em>, and Gold adjusted his grip on his cane.</p><p>“Really?” he asked.</p><p>David nodded in answer.</p><p>Thinking it over, Belle had been rather quick to let him into her home. She was afraid of new people. She was afraid of leaving the house. But she’d invited him in quickly, and mentioned more than once that she’d looked him up online. Perhaps she did like him, even if it was only as a friend.</p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” he muttered. “I’ll… I’ll tell my friend what you said.”</p><p>Grinning like he couldn’t be more pleased with what he’d just heard, David stood and slid the chair back to its usual spot at the side of the room.</p><p>“Will there be anything else?”</p><p>“No, that’s all.”</p><p>Gold stood silently and let David leave, before another thought struck him. Belle hadn’t just given him a key. She’d suggested a way for them to talk more frequently.</p><p>“Wait,” Gold called after David. He reappeared in the doorway, still smiling, and Gold sighed.</p><p>He had a sneaking suspicion that David’s smile was permanent.</p><p>“Could you show me how to use a mobile phone?”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took him two more visits to Belle’s home before he worked up the courage to share his number. He parked outside the house, in the same spot as he always did, followed his usual locking compulsion, and did the same once he was inside. It was the first time he’d locked, unlocked, and locked her front door, and he wondered when her house had come to feel familiar enough for him to worry about intruders.</p><p>“Miss French?” he called out, making his way to the bottom of the stairs. “It’s only me.”</p><p>He heard the creek of the steps before she spoke.</p><p>“Hello,” she called back, although ‘called’ probably wasn’t quite the right word. Her tone was as soft and soothing as ever, still nervous after the weeks he’d spent visiting her.</p><p>Leaning heavily on his cane, Gold moved forward and tried to catch a glimpse of her. So far he’d seen nothing more than her hand and a flash of blue material. But his talk with David, however vague, had given him some confidence that it was only a matter of time before he saw more of her. Perhaps he’d see a lock of her hair, or another flash of what she’d chosen to wear that day.</p><p>“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked when Belle fell into her usual silence.</p><p>“You don’t have to ask,” she said gently.</p><p>He’d noticed quickly that she was always quiet when he first arrived. It took time for her to fall into conversation, and then she’d happily chat away about the things she’d seen online, or the latest book she’d ordered.</p><p>Sitting at the foot of the steps, Gold stretched his sore leg out in front of him and rested his cane against the other. He’d had a long day of appraising in the morning and selling off half an estate that afternoon. His leg had begun to protest about half-way through the auction.</p><p>“Does it hurt?” Belle asked, and the stairs creaked as she moved forward.</p><p>“Not much,” Gold dismissed, dusting off the front of his suit. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by his aching leg or the lulling nature of Belle’s voice. He cleared his throat. “I have a phone now.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>It was likely only wishful thinking that he thought he heard an excited note to her voice, but that didn’t stop him from smiling.</p><p>“I suppose you’ll want my number,” he said, carefully taking the cell phone from his breast pocket. The touch screen didn’t work with his gloves on, and he was still loath to take them off every time he wanted to make a text or call. That was why, despite David’s instructions, Gold hadn’t used it.</p><p>“I can add my number.”</p><p>Gold froze.</p><p>Her voice was closer. It was so close that he could almost imagine she was standing right behind him. He lifted his head, and felt the gentle press of a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Please don’t turn around,” she whispered, and turned her hand palm up. “Can I have your phone?”</p><p>Too surprised to speak, and suddenly full of a nervous buzz, Gold only nodded wordlessly and handed the phone over his shoulder. Belle took it with a quiet ‘thank you’, and he listened in silence as she tapped something into the phone. He didn’t know how she understood how to use it, but he was too afraid to ask. He wasn’t sure how to react to her nearness. Her presence behind him radiated a warmth at his back, and Gold stayed as still and as quiet as he would when approaching a timid animal.</p><p>After only a short moment, she returned his phone and Gold looked at the screen. She’d entered herself, <em> Belle French</em>, and her mobile number into his contacts. He couldn’t help but notice there was no picture of her, but she was standing over him, so close that he could reach back and touch her, that he found he didn’t care.</p><p>His nerves slowly abated, replaced by something he didn’t quite dare give a name to, and he felt her hand on his shoulder again.</p><p>“Send me a text?” she suggested. “So I can save your number.”</p><p>“Right. Yes.” His voice sounded oddly hoarse, and she squeezed his shoulder as he pulled off a glove and tried to remember which buttons to press to send a text. He typed in a simple ‘hello’ and hoped that wasn’t too little or too formal. Belle’s phone <em> pinged </em> within seconds, and he felt a cold sense of loss when her hand left his shoulder.</p><p>“What should I save your name as?”</p><p>“Gold.” He cleared his throat. “Roman Gold.” </p><p>Her phone beeped as she typed in his name; the name no one else used. He could almost picture her, almost, but would she have a smile on her face, or would she look as calm and soft as her voice?</p><p>Shaking away those thoughts, Gold slipped his glove back on and put his phone away.</p><p>“How do you cope by yourself?” he asked, before he gave in to the wild urge to turn around and see her. “I mean, for food and… necessities.”</p><p>“Ruby does most of my shopping, or I order things online. You can get most things online these days.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>How could a hum sound so amused? Gold wanted desperately to turn around and see her, but he was just as determined not to scare her away as he was to finally see her face.</p><p>“Do you want to turn around?” she asked, and it was already on the tip of his tongue to say <em> yes</em>, yes of course he wanted to turn around, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to see her if it would make her uncomfortable.</p><p>“It’s alright,” she said tenderly.</p><p>He could feel that she was just a step or two behind him now, and he had to brace all of his weight onto his cane and good leg as he lifted himself up.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Gold asked, keeping his back to her as he smoothed down the front of his suit and straightened his tie.</p><p>“I’m sure,” she whispered back.</p><p>Holding his breath, Gold pivoted on his heel, and there she was. If it wasn’t for the support of his cane, he was sure he would have stumbled backwards. He hadn’t dared entertain the idea that she was beautiful. He hadn’t pictured a young woman with thick auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes. It was easy to imagine her as a muse in one of her paintings; the oils shaping the fullness of her lips and colouring the brightness of her eyes.</p><p>Now that he thought about it, Gold wasn’t sure what he’d imagined. It certainly hadn’t been the small, nervous woman who stood on the stairs just a few steps up from him.</p><p>Swallowing, he adjusted his cane and tried to find his voice.</p><p>“Hello.” His voice sounded husk again, but the simple word was enough to turn Belle’s uncertain frown into a smile.</p><p>“Hello,” she returned.</p><p>She took a step forward, down the next step and closer to him, and it was only then that Gold thought to look at what she was wearing. Her feet and legs were bare, but her thighs were covered by a fluffy, blue robe. It hid her arms, drowned out her waist, and left only a tantalising peek of her collarbone at the top.</p><p>Gold focused on her face again.</p><p>“Roman,” she said, trying his name for the first time. He almost stopped breathing. “You have to call me Belle now,” she added firmly, a smile still playing across her lips. “No more Miss French.”</p><p>The corner of his mouth curved up. “Will I stop being Mr. Gold?”</p><p>She reached out, as if about to touch his chest, then thought better of it and pulled her hand away.</p><p>“Not all the time, no,” she decided, taking another step forward. It put them at eye-level, and Gold instinctively set his cane down in front of him, between them. Belle’s eyes dropped to it, but her smile didn’t disappear. It turned to something tender, almost sympathetic, and she held her hands behind her back.</p><p>“You really are an observant one, aren’t you?” he commented.</p><p>Belle bit her lip and shrugged.</p><p>“It only really works on people I know,” she said.</p><p>Gold smirked.</p><p>“You know me, do you?”</p><p>Smiling back, she looked him over and he had to fight the urge to step back, or to lean closer under her appraising look. Her eyes lingered on his shoes for a moment, and he didn't trust himself to move either way. </p><p>“I think so,” she murmured. Her eyes flicked back up to his face and his mouth went dry. “I wouldn’t have invited you back so many times if I didn’t.”</p><p>“I… I don’t think--” Gold wet his lips to speak, but the words didn’t come. Belle saw her chance, and stepped back.</p><p>“Would you like to see your Rembrandt?” she offered with a shy smile, sweeping her hand up towards the top steps.</p><p>Not trusting himself to speak, Gold nodded wordlessly and followed her up the stairs. He’d forgotten about the painting. They kept their distance, with Belle glancing at him several times over her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but she smiled, and Gold found himself smiling back like a lovesick fool.</p><p>She took him to a set of double doors at the end of a long corridor, hidden around a corner from the staircase and the large window that opened up and flooded the landing with light. She had a key about her neck, hanging from a gold chain, and she bent forward to unlock the doors. Gold felt like he should look away, to pretend he hadn’t seen where she kept the key, or the curve of her behind and legs as she bent, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to look away from her if he tried.</p><p>Pushing the doors open with both hands, a new light flooded the hall. Belle stepped into it, into a large room full of a very impressive art collection. Portraits, landscapes, and city views decorated every wall. There were a few peeks of the cream wallpaper beneath, where the squares of the frames didn’t quite meet, but the rest of the wall was entirely hidden behind Belle’s collection. Gold paused in the doorway, taken aback.</p><p>Her collection could easily rival his own.</p><p>There were only a few pieces of furniture in the room. In front of a tall window was a Victorian chaise longue, made of cherry wood with red upholstery. A desk chair, of dark wood and old red leather, sat in the centre, positioned so the occupant could sit and admire their collection. The desk itself was at the far end of the room, likely late 19th Century, in mahogany. Nothing special. What was special, were the portraits propped against the side of it.</p><p>“Here,” Belle said, sorting through them to pick out the Rembrandt. “Most of the paintings were bought by my father, but these are mine. I need to find somewhere to hang them.”</p><p>“Well, if you ever need someone to sell them…” Gold flashed her a smile and her eyes twinkled in return.</p><p>He passed the paintings on the walls, the ones her father had chosen, but they held little interest for him compared to the small pile Belle had bought for herself. He took the Rembrandt, set it aside, and flipped through the other paintings. A view of Venice caught his eye, with its bright blues and greens. It had to have been restored within the last year or so.</p><p>“Eighteenth Century,” Belle told him as he lifted it up.</p><p>Gold nodded thoughtfully, slipping the glove from his right hand.</p><p>“Yes, I have one similar. I bought it as a Marieschi.”</p><p>“And it wasn’t?” Belle gave him a look, as though she already knew the answer, and Gold smiled.</p><p>“It’s a Guardi. One of the many he didn’t sign.”</p><p>She shook her head but didn’t reprimand him. Her eyes returned to the painting, and a solemn, faraway look overtook her.</p><p>“I’d like to see your collection,” she said. “I’d like to go to Venice, too.”</p><p>Both desires were possible, if he could find a way to help her leave her home, but he didn’t want to give her false hope. She moved closer, until their sides almost touched, and Gold set the painting aside to hide the sudden tremor in his hand.</p><p>“Maybe you will one day,” he said, selecting another painting. “Now <em> this </em> one.”</p><p>Gold set it on the top of the desk, displaying the portrait of a woman with her head tipped back.</p><p>“An earlier Italian. Gentileschi,” he decided, hovering his bare fingers just over the canvas. “You see the paint strokes? They’re raised ever so slightly from the canvas, defining the curve of her neck, her full lips, and…”</p><p>He turned his head to Belle and found her standing closer still. She blinked up at him, not once glancing at the portrait on the table.</p><p>“I like the colours,” she added. “The gold contrasted by the blue, both of them dark and muddied. That blend of shadows, moving between light and dark. Almost as if she’s moving by herself. Like you could... reach out and touch her.”</p><p>Gripping his cane tight, bracing himself, Gold lay the painting down and licked his lips.</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“Yes?” she prompted hopefully, smiling.</p><p>“I should go, Miss French. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”</p><p>He retreated and Belle’s smile fell. He didn’t turn his back on her immediately, he only did that when her disappointment became too much. He couldn’t look at her like that. Disappointment didn't sit right on her face.</p><p>“Will you come back next week?” she asked after him, following him from the room.</p><p>Nodding, Gold reached the end of the hall and glanced back at her.</p><p>“Yes, of course I’ll come back. I just have-- I need to leave.”</p><p>Smiling tremulously, Belle nodded. The last thing he heard as he hurried down the stairs was her quiet, gentle whisper.</p><p>“I understand.”</p><hr/><p>The next day wasn’t really a busy one, no more so than usual, but he received an unexpected phone call which would ensure the next few weeks <em> were </em> busy. After taking the call, he’d instructed David to answer all other calls for him and postpone any meetings that afternoon. David obliged, after asking him if he was okay, and if he was <em> sure </em> he was okay, and Gold locked himself away in his office.</p><p>He followed his compulsion of locking, unlocking, and locking the door, and checked the handle three times. He couldn’t afford to have anyone interrupt him, and David outside would ensure that no one overheard him.</p><p>Sitting at his desk, Gold straightened his papers and pulled out his handkerchief to make a call. He held up the phone, carefully wrapped it with the cloth, and dialled the number.</p><p>It only rang twice before it was answered.</p><p>“You wouldn’t know where I could find a clockwork rabbit, would you?” Jefferson asked, skipping straight over any chance of small talk. That was part of why Gold liked him.</p><p>“Is this for Grace?” Gold asked, and immediately regretted it.</p><p>He should have known not to mention Jefferson’s daughter.</p><p>Jefferson talked and talked, and Gold pulled out his pocket watch. He checked the time against the clock on the mantelpiece, while he waited for Jefferson to finish, then snapped the pocket watch shut with a satisfying click.</p><p>“I know where I might find such a thing,” Gold said once Jefferson took a moment to breath. "I have two new appraisals next week. One for a toy-maker, and one at the Mills Estate."</p><p>Jefferson whistled and Gold had to pull the phone away from his ear.</p><p>“There’s bound to be some nice pieces in that place,” he commented.</p><p>“I’m certainly hoping so.” Gold hadn’t had much to do with Cora herself, but he knew her daughter. Most people knew the mayor and her expensive taste.</p><p>"And they've entrusted it all to you,” Jefferson said, clear admiration in his voice. “How did you manage that?”</p><p>"That’s my business. Yours is to make sure you’re there on the day of the auction."</p><p>Jefferson laughed.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss the chance to see what Cora had hoarded away.”</p><p>“I’m sure you won’t--”</p><p>His pocket began to buzz; the pocket hiding the phone whose number he’d only shared with one person.</p><p>Gold almost dropped both phones in his hurry to retrieve the cellphone.</p><p>“I’ll call you if I find anything of interest.” He slammed down the phone before Jefferson could reply, and answered the new phone. “Belle?”</p><p>“I need you to come to the house,” she said in a hurried whisper. “Please.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asked, grasping for his cane. He knocked it over in his hurry to stand, and a twinge ran up his leg. But he pushed passed it as he listened to Belle’s panicked breathing over the phone.</p><p>“There’s someone here.”</p><p>A chill washed over him. He rushed out of his office, ignoring David at his desk just outside, and anyone he passed in the hall. It didn’t take him long to get to his car, despite the ache in his leg.</p><p>“Belle?”</p><p>“Please hurry.”</p><p>“I’m getting in the car now, sweetheart. I won’t be long.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn’t think he’d ever arrived at Belle’s house so fast. The Cadillac had cut through traffic, overtook several cars, and almost took out a dog walker, all so he could get to her quicker.</p><p>Pulling into his usual spot in her drive, a wave of relief shot through him. A delivery van had pulled up on the other side, and the man in a blue shirt by the driver’s door looked more confused than threatening. He even held a small package in his left hand.</p><p><em> Oh, Belle</em>.</p><p>Gold slumped back into his seat, gave himself a moment to catch his breath and calm his heart, and stepped out.</p><p>“I was beginning to think no one lived here,” the man joked.</p><p>Gold ignored him in favour of counting the number of times he locked, unlocked, locked, and tried the car handle. He couldn’t do anything until that was done. He couldn’t leave without knowing for certain that the car was safe, especially not when he was still so shaken.</p><p>Turning to the man with a barely there smile, Gold pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and held out his gloved hand.</p><p>“I’ll take that,” was all he said. He couldn’t find it in him to say he didn’t live there. “Do you need a signature?”</p><p>“Not for this.” The man, tall and with a kind smile, shook his head and handed the package over. “The place looks--” His smile faltered. “I didn’t feel right leaving it.” </p><p>“Thank you for waiting,” Gold said, testing the weight of the box. His first guess was that it was a book, and knowing Belle’s love of stories, it probably was.</p><p>The delivery man said goodbye, and Gold fished around in his breast pocket for Belle’s key. He let himself in, making sure to slam the door shut behind him, and made certain that the door was safely locked.</p><p>“Belle?” he called out, making as much noise as he could with his steps and his cane across the wooden floor. “It’s only me. Are you there?”</p><p>There was no reply. It was alarming, but not surprising. He stood at the foot of the staircase, listening for any movement, and heard nothing.</p><p>“Belle? It’s Roman,” he added. “I’m coming upstairs.”</p><p>The twinge in his leg returned as he climbed the stairs. Gold did his best to ignore it, but it still slowed him down. He had to take the steps one at a time. At the top, he looked along the landing, to all of the closed doors, and the end of the corridor where it turned and hid Belle’s art collection around the corner. The rest of the house was still a mystery to him, but he knew Belle had a key to that room. If she was somewhere in the house, that was the best place to start.</p><p>“Belle?” He tried to sound gentle, but it was difficult when he was gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg and trying to catch his breath.</p><p>He reached the doors, and hesitated.</p><p>“It’s only me, sweetheart,” he said through the door. “There’s no one else here.”</p><p>The telltale creak of floorboards let him know she was in there. A key turned in the lock, but the door didn’t open. He waited. He waited for what felt like almost a minute, before he carefully reached for the door handle and twisted it.</p><p>The door opened, but Belle wasn’t there. She’d retreated to the centre of the room and wrapped her arms around herself. She only wore a long, oversized sweater, and he was struck by how small she looked.</p><p>“Belle,” he said softly, and it seemed to break whatever hesitation she had.</p><p>She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. His cane kept him steady, even with the shot of pain the sudden weight sent through his leg, but he dropped her package in shock. It hit the floor with a heavy <em> thud</em>, and he hoped he was right about it being a book.</p><p>“It’s all right,” he crooned, patting her back with his suddenly free hand. “You’re all right.”</p><p>She buried her nose against his neck, and he caught the faint scent of her shampoo; something floral, like roses. He pressed his own nose into her hair, breathing her in.</p><p>“It was supposed to arrive tomorrow. Ruby should have been here.” Her voice was muffled against his collar, but Gold understood her well enough. He brushed his gloved hand over her hair, nodding, and frowned.</p><p>“Hold on,” he said.</p><p>Belle’s eyebrows creased with worry when he pulled back. She kept her hands on his side, his chest, his stomach; anywhere she could touch him while he hesitantly removed his gloves.</p><p>“Roman…” she whispered, sweeping her hands down his arms.</p><p>Gold lifted a hand, and her fingers brushed across his palm. He sucked in a breath, willing himself to hold still as Belle traced the lines in his hand.</p><p>The need to hold her close rose in him, but he didn’t dare move in case he broke whatever spell had come over them. Belle kept her eyes on his hand, following her fingers path across his palm. It felt natural for him to lean in until their foreheads lightly bumped. Belle returned the gesture. She tipped her head up and rubbed the tips of their noses together.</p><p>“Is this okay?” he barely whispered, losing his voice, and she nodded against him.</p><p>Without giving it a second thought, Gold leaned in further, to close the fragile gap between them. Their lips brushed, a gentle ghost of a touch, but then Belle pressed herself close and the kiss deepened. It was a slow, tender thing, with only slightly parted lips, but it sent a spark through him all the same.</p><p>It felt so natural to kiss her, and for her to kiss him back.</p><p>He’d started the kiss, but it was hard to say which of them moved them further into the room; whether he stepped forward first or she stepped backwards and pulled him with her. They moved together, still kissing with the teasing flick of tongues and their hands holding the other close, and felt their way along the wall until they reached the window.</p><p>Belle’s legs bumped into the chaise longue, and she broke the kiss with a soft smack of their lips.</p><p>“Sorry,” she whispered.</p><p>Gold shook his head and smiled, and Belle gingerly returned it.</p><p>“Don’t apologise,” he soothed, pressing his nose to her forehead.</p><p>With a smile, Belle sat down on the chaise and playfully pulled him with her. His cane clattered to the floor, but he found that he didn’t care. He leaned over her, almost on all fours on the chaise as she reclined back, and his lack of cane really didn’t matter.</p><p>“Are you sure?” he asked.</p><p><em> He </em> was sure, he realised. He wasn’t worried about how she might perceive him, or how he might ruin their moments together, as friends. Worrying about his lack of gloves or how clean her home was didn’t enter his mind when she looked at him like that. But a look wasn’t enough to tell him that they wanted the same thing.</p><p>“I am,” she promised, running her hands down his chest. “Are you?”</p><p>“Yes.” He shrugged off his blazer. “God, yes.”</p><p>Laughing quietly, Belle unpicked the buttons of his waistcoat. His fingers itched to pull off her sweater, and he tried to keep them to himself, but it was no good. He hitched her sweater up, and she lifted her hips to help him. Then something changed. Gold couldn’t seem to catch his breath when she threw the sweater over her head, revealing her simple black underwear beneath, and the soft curve of her waist and stomach. She pulled at his tie, drawing his attention back up to her face, and smiled.</p><p>“I’ve been sure about this for a while,” Belle teased.</p><p>Gold swallowed and tried to find his voice, but it came out hoarse and gravelly.</p><p>“You have?” he asked.</p><p>“Well… Maybe not <em> a while</em>, but as soon as I saw you in person, and you talked to me on the stairs.” She smiled and played with his tie, twirling it around her hand to hold him close. “Kiss me again?”</p><p>He did, happily. He didn’t think he would ever not want to kiss her; to savour the feel of her soft lips and the faint taste of iced tea and something sweet. She slipped off his tie and moved her hands lower. Her touches, her fingers pulling at his shirt buttons and pushing it apart to touch him, skin-on-skin, sent sparks through him.</p><p>Gold growled into their kiss, and Belle smiled, taking it as an invitation to move her touches even lower.</p><p>What they were doing, what they were about to do, almost didn’t seem real. Belle unbuckled his belt and he helped her to push down his trousers and boxers.</p><p>He felt no shame when she took his half-hard cock into her hand and stroked him. If anything, Gold felt a swell of pride when he looked at her face and saw how flushed she was. Her lips parted, drawing in excited breaths, and her cheeks glowed a soft shade of pink. She was beautiful.</p><p>Gold dipped down to kiss her, and she squeezed him a little tighter, teasing him. He bucked his hips into her hands and she hummed against his lips before pulling back.</p><p>“Not yet,” she said gently.</p><p>“<em>Belle</em>,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Please.”</p><p>Kissing his cheek, Belle released his cock and shimmied out of her underwear and bra. She didn’t sit up to take them off. Her body brushed against his, everywhere where she’d hurriedly pushed his suit out of the way, and his whole body thrummed with excitement at the feel of her. He touched her with light, deliberate strokes, over her thighs and up her hips. Until she took one of his hands and guided it up to her breast.</p><p>Gold met her eyes, and Belle bit her lip as she lifted her leg. He’d been kneeling beside her, and he watched with ragged breaths as she parted her legs and wrapped them around him.</p><p>The window beside them, covered only by a lace curtain, left him no way to hide from her intent gaze. They were entirely in light, and while Belle was beautiful, she looked at him as if she saw just as much beauty staring back at her.</p><p>He didn’t feel so self-conscious or undeserving, when she looked at him like that.</p><p>Gold dipped down to kiss her lips, her cheek, her neck. Belle rolled her head back with a sigh and pressed her bare heels into his back, pulling him close. Her body radiated heat. Gold nipped at her neck, and her heavy, desperate breaths filled his ears. He didn’t realise she was speaking, or trying to speak, until she ran her fingers through his hair and pulled it.</p><p>“Roman,” Belle urged, canting her hips against his. “I can’t wait.”</p><p>Lifting his head, Gold met her eyes and reached down between them. She didn’t look away. Even when he slipped his hand between her legs and felt how wet she already was, her eyes remained on his. He didn’t ask her again if she was sure. He could see it in her heavy-lidded eyes; her slightly parted smiling lips; her little nod of encouragement.</p><p>Taking himself in hand, he guided the head of his cock to her folds, and Belle gripped his shoulders as he pushed into her. He moved slowly, to make the moment last and to resist the temptation of her warmth surrounding him.</p><p>Belle gasped and tipped her head back just enough for him to kiss her throat. He rolled his hips back gently, then forward; pushing into her a little deeper each time. Her fingers dug into his upper arms. The sounds she made, sweet and soft and quiet, were as soothing as her speaking voice. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, savouring the song escaping her lips as he rocked into her.</p><p>“Touch me,” she whispered.</p><p>Those words alone, in that sweet voice and from those soft lips, were nearly enough to undo him.</p><p>“Yes,” Gold agreed readily. He touched her carefully, tenderly. His hand ran up her side and cupped one of her breasts. Belle’s eyes fluttered closed, and Gold circled the breast with his thumb, the pad of it grazing her nipple. She sighed, her back rising to press her into his warm palm, and he put his forehead to hers. “Belle.”</p><p>Her eyes opened, and without a word, she pushed her hips up to meet his steady thrusts. She scratched her nails down his shoulders and pressed her hands flat into his back, encouraging him to go faster.</p><p>“Roman… <em> Please</em>.”</p><p>It was impossible not to give her what she wanted. He wanted the same thing, and when she sighed his name, something in him broke. His hips bucked sharper against hers. Belle’s sighs grew louder. She tried to match his pace, angling her hips at <em> just </em> the right angle, but she quickly began to come undone.</p><p>Gold stopped teasing her breast and moved his hand down to rub her clit, encouraging her as she drew closer to the brink. Her back raised up off the chaise, and Gold felt himself growing closer as he struggled to keep up the fast rhythm.</p><p>When she came, it was with a cry of his name and her fingers digging into his back. He followed her over the edge. Belle shuddered against him as he came inside her, and forgot everything but the wonderful feeling of <em> her </em> all around him.</p><p>“Belle,” he muttered, pressing his nose to her cheek. “Sweetheart.”</p><p>She wrapped her arms around Gold’s shoulders, holding him tight as his arms gave way and he sagged on top of her. Both of them panted, struggling to catch their breath, but he’d never felt more sated and content. He didn’t want to move from his spot on top of her, with her legs still spread around him, and she didn’t seem to want him to move either.</p><p>Belle buried her face in his neck. Her breathing was beginning to slow, and her hold around him began to weaken.</p><p>Gold smiled.</p><p>“Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable?” he asked.</p><hr/><p>After spending the rest of the afternoon drifting in and out of sleep in Belle’s bed, Gold had returned to the house the following week with a proverbial spring in his step. Even following the compulsion to double and triple check that he’d locked his car didn’t dampen his mood.</p><p>For the whole of the following week, he had fallen into the habit of texting Belle. She didn’t always reply, but David had suggested that he shouldn’t read too much into who texted who first, or how long it took for her to reply back. What mattered wasn’t that Belle had ignored his text about a new painting he’d valuated, or his good morning messages wishing her a good day. What mattered was that she always wished him a good night and sweet dreams. Every evening.</p><p>Fixing his tie, Gold pocketed his car keys and took out the key for Belle’s house as he walked to the door.</p><p>Other than the texts, and the lack of a verbal phone call, Gold had no reason to suspect that anything was wrong. Until he reached her front door and tried the lock.</p><p>The key didn’t work.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> No missed calls. No new messages. </em>
</p><p>Gold didn’t know how many times that day he’d checked his phone and found the same thing. He didn’t want to know. All he knew for certain was that it was three weeks and four days since he’d last seen Belle.</p><p>David stood in the doorway of his office, running off a list of the meetings and auctions planned for the upcoming week. Gold barely listened. He nodded along, watched the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and checked his phone again.</p><p>
  <em> No missed calls. No new messages. </em>
</p><p>Even after finding that his key didn’t fit the lock to Belle’s front door, he still tried again the following week, but got the same result. The key didn’t work. No one came to meet him. Belle didn’t answer his calls. It was as though she’d disappeared. Or hadn’t existed at all.</p><p>“Are you nearly ready?”</p><p>Gold looked up from his phone. David watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer to a question that Gold hadn’t heard.</p><p>“What for?” Gold asked.</p><p>David’s eyes widened.</p><p>“For… the auction?” he reminded, sounding as confused as Gold felt. “The Mills estate sale is today.”</p><p>“Ah.” Gold nodded and checked his phone again. “Yes.”</p><p>
  <em> No missed calls. No new messages </em>
</p><p>“Gold?”</p><p>“Hm?</p><p>“Are you all right?” David asked.</p><p>This was ridiculous. If he was so distracted by his phone that even David realised there was something wrong, then he really wasn’t all right.</p><p>Pushing himself away from his desk, Gold grabbed his cane and stood. The world didn’t stop just because one woman had seen the error of her ways and wanted him out of her life. He couldn’t really blame her for seeing sense.</p><p>“I’m fine, Mr. Nolan,” Gold dismissed. “How long until the start of the auction?”</p><p>David glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece as Gold opened his office door.</p><p>“Nearly an hour,” he answered.</p><p>Gold nodded and ushered him out of the room.</p><p>“Then I’ll be ready in an hour. Don’t let anyone in. I have a call to make.”</p><p>“Gold, wait--”</p><p>David turned before he could close the door on him, with that frustrating smile on his face that was far too caring for Gold’s liking. Why did so many people pretend to care? It took far less effort to be honest about one’s disdain.</p><p>“Still no answer?” David asked.</p><p>Gold tightened his grip on his cane. David sighed.</p><p>“Whatever happened, I’m sure she’ll--”</p><p>“There is no <em> she</em>, Mr. Nolan,” Gold interrupted, keeping his tone flat. “Please make sure no one interrupts me. I’ll be ready in an hour.”</p><p>He slammed the door shut before David could speak again.</p><hr/><p>Jefferson sat near the front, in a suit that Gold himself would be happy to wear. They’d had this moment planned for almost a month -- after Belle had stopped speaking to him -- and Gold wasn’t surprised to find that Jefferson had made an effort.</p><p>Cora Mills had made quite a name for herself in the world of collectors, and her daughter was known for sharing her expensive taste. Gold should have been eager to reap the benefits of this auction. He should have been excited to carry out his and Jefferson’s trick; to win Cora’s things for a fraction of their real value. But he felt nothing. He felt almost hollow, with a faint, sickly churning in his stomach.</p><p>The people in the seats around Jefferson were dressed similarly in their finest clothes, and the buzz of intrigue in the room was palpable.</p><p>Gold just wished he could share their enthusiasm.</p><p>“Lot number 12,” he read off the card. “An ornate mirror. Mid 19th Century, English. Some damage to the glass along the frame.”</p><p>A few people craned their necks to see the mirror with its cracked surface, but few of them actually bid for it. It didn’t sell for as much as it would have undamaged, but Gold found it hard to care. It was Regina’s fault for not taking better care of it.</p><p>“Lot number 13. A Venetian mask in gold and red. Likely early 20th Century, with mild wear.”</p><p>More people showed an interest in the mask than the mirror, but then the mask wasn’t broken. It held some value as a talking point, at least, and despite the wear, Gold couldn’t imagine Cora Mills had ever worn the thing.</p><p>He clacked down his gavel and moved on to the next lot. He’d already sold two of Cora’s paintings. They were authentic, and he’d sold them all at a reasonable price, but they weren’t the piece he wanted.</p><p>What he wanted was up next.</p><p>The porter wheeled out the third painting, an 18th Century view of Venice by Guardi himself, and Gold turned his back on it.</p><p>“Lot number 14 is by an unknown artist,” he declared, showing the painting almost no interest at all. “A reasonable rendition of the Grand Canal in Venice. 19th Century. Painted for the Venetian tourists.”</p><p>Gold allowed himself to smile, even though he didn’t feel it, and glanced towards Jefferson.</p><p>“Shall we begin the bidding at… a thousand?”</p><p>It took the room a moment to warm to the bidding. The lack of interest was clear, and it only took three bids before Jefferson spied his chance to join in. One of the original bidders dropped out when the bids reached ten thousand, and Gold felt his confidence slowly returning. Until a bidder interrupted on the phone.</p><p>Gold pressed his lips into a displeased line.</p><p>“Twenty thousand on the phone,” he declared.</p><p>Another of the bidders in the room dropped out, and then another, until only Jefferson raised his paddle against the phone bidder. Gold gripped his cane tight and dug it into the ground by his feet.</p><p>“A hundred thousand,” he said, motioning towards Jefferson.</p><p>That should have dissuaded the unseen bidder, but it didn’t. It was a fraction of its real value, but no one would know that. He’d told the people in the room that it was by someone unknown, unimportant. They’d believed him, as most people did, but the phone bidder bid again. They had to know it was real. They had to <em> know </em> about his trick.</p><p>Gold fixed his tie and did his best to follow the bids between Jefferson and the phone. He could have called it off. He could have declared the unknown bidder the winner and saved himself more than five hundred thousand, but he had to know. He had to see if he was right.</p><p>He caught Jefferson’s eye. He was frowning, and Gold knew that when the bidder on the phone bid again, Jefferson wouldn’t try to outbid them.</p><p>The phone bidder offered a million, and Gold found himself smiling, even when Jefferson’s frown deepened.</p><p>He didn’t raise his paddle again.</p><p>“Sold,” Gold said faintly, clacking down the gavel with hope. “To the bidder on the phone.”</p><hr/><p>His visit was almost spontaneous. His reaction to the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was reaching out to him, was automatic. He had no plan, and no idea what he would do if he tried the lock and his key somehow worked, but he had to try.</p><p>Something felt different as he pulled up onto the drive. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe he wanted the bidder to be her so badly, to think that she’d deliberately caught his attention, that he’d convinced himself he could feel her there, waiting for him.</p><p>Locking, unlocking, and locking his car with unsteady hands, Gold took a deep breath.</p><p><em> One last try</em>, he told himself. If the key didn’t work this time, he would leave. If she didn’t answer his call, he wouldn’t try again.</p><p>Ignoring the racing of his heart, Gold straightened his back and rounded on the house. It looked the same as every other time he’d visited, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that <em> something </em> had changed.</p><p>He walked towards the house with purpose, slowed down only by his cane, and didn’t hesitate until he reached the door. His key wouldn’t work, he knew that already, but he still pulled it from his pocket and tested it in the door.</p><p>It didn’t unlock, and some of his hope began to dwindle.</p><p>Glancing up at the higher windows, the windows that weren’t boarded up, Gold took out his phone. He started to pull off one of his gloves, and heard a click.</p><p>He froze.</p><p>Not daring to move, Gold watched in alarm and wonder as the front door opened. It only opened a crack, but the face that timidly peered out through that crack almost made him drop the phone.</p><p>“Belle?” he whispered.</p><p>Chewing her lip, Belle nervously glanced over his shoulder, to the driveway and street beyond. He couldn’t tell if it was the outside world that made her uneasy, or his presence.</p><p>Gold fixed his tie and smoothed down the front of his suit.</p><p>“Would it be better if I came in?” he asked.</p><p>Belle considered, then nodded and retreated behind the door.</p><p>Slowly and carefully, Gold slipped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft click. Belle locked it, then offered him the key. He took it, unlocked and locked the door again, then tested the handle. She smiled, and Gold almost smiled back, but the new key was a heavy weight in his hand. He could almost feel the metal burning through the leather of his glove.</p><p>“You changed the locks,” he said.</p><p>“Yes.” Belle spoke just as softly as when they’d first met, and couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I have them changed every six months.”</p><p>Gold offered her the new key, but she waved it away and shook her head.</p><p>“It’s yours,” she said, stepping back towards the stairs.</p><p>“Why didn’t you send me the new key?” He stared down at it in his hand, just so he had something to look at that wasn’t Belle and her rising nerves. “Why didn’t you call?”</p><p>She didn’t answer, and he wasn’t really surprised. She’d answered the door and let him in, that was more than he’d expected to happen. But she’d sought him out, and he was there, and it was becoming increasingly clear that if he wanted any answers at all, he would have to ask the right questions.</p><p>He bounced the key in his hand, then slipped it into his breast pocket with the old one.</p><p>“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked gently, and only then dared to look at her face.</p><p>Belle looked up the stairs, to the tall windows that shined light into the entrance and the hall above. It lit up her face in an almost serene glow, but it also highlighted the wetness in her eyes.</p><p>Gold stepped forward, but she shook her head again.</p><p>“It was too much,” Belle said, folding her arms. “I hadn’t meant for us to get so close,” she added, and turned to face him. “Look at me. I can’t have a relationship. I… I don’t <em> want </em>a relationship. I want to be left alone.”</p><p>Her voice rose with every word. It didn’t reach a shout, but her distress was clear. Gold raised a placating hand and moved closer, slowly, and with the deliberate click of his cane. Belle watched him warily, wrapping her arms tighter around herself and her oversized sweater. But she didn’t move away.</p><p>“If that’s true,” Gold said softly. “Then tell me, and I’ll walk out of that door and out of your life. I won’t trouble you again.”</p><p>Belle was already shaking her head before he had a chance to finish the sentence. A tear spilled onto her cheek. His heart clenched.</p><p>“It’s not true,” she whispered, her voice cracking.</p><p>Gold held out his hand, and when she didn’t pull away, he pulled her to him. She went willingly, and wrapped her arms tight around his middle.</p><p>“Were you afraid?” he asked, hugging her close. She nodded against his shoulder. “So was I.”</p><p>She slipped her arms under his blazer and fisted her hands in the back of his waistcoat.</p><p>“Of me?” she asked, sounding a little more like herself. She was trying to tease him, to lighten the mood, and a small smile flickered across his face.</p><p>“Of letting anyone in,” he corrected. “Of sharing… <em> something</em>, with someone.”</p><p>“Someone who can’t leave the house,” Belle added. Gold shook his head and ran his hands up her back.</p><p>“Someone who can’t touch anything without wearing gloves,” he reminded her.</p><p>She tightened her arms around him and looked up from where she’d pressed her face against his shoulder.</p><p>“I already knew that,” she said softly.</p><p>“You know me better than anyone,” he agreed. “You knew which painting I’d be interested in at the auction.”</p><p>Belle pressed her lips together in a poorly concealed smile. Gold did his best to look stern, raising his chin and narrowing his eyes, but it only made Belle’s smile wider.</p><p>“That’s two works of art you’ve cost me now, Miss French,” he said. “It almost seems deliberate.”</p><p>“The first time wasn’t,” she said sweetly.</p><p>“But the second time was?”</p><p>Belle bit her lips, and his stern face cracked.</p><p>“You know me,” he repeated fondly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “And I know you. I know about your fears and your hopes.”</p><p>Her easy smile began to slip. The mischievous twinkle faded from her eyes. Gold cupped her cheek, as if his tender touch could keep hold of some of her lightness, but it didn’t work. Her tension and fears returned, and she bit her lip for an altogether different reason.</p><p>“You know I’m afraid to leave the house.”</p><p>“And I’m afraid to leave the house without checking all the locks three times each,” he countered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “We are who we are.”</p><p>The grip of her hands at his waistcoat slowly loosened, and her fingers brushed lightly over his back.</p><p>“And it doesn’t bother you?” she asked.</p><p>Gold shook his head.</p><p>“I came here every week, knowing who you are,” he said. “These last few months, I think I’ve spent more time here than at my own house.”</p><p>Belle frowned. “But what about your collection?”</p><p>He recognised it for the deliberate change in conversation that it was, and he let her do it. If she needed time before she shared everything that had troubled her and plagued her with anxiety, then Gold understood that all too well.</p><p>“It’s in storage,” he sighed. “There isn’t enough wall space in my house to hang them up.”</p><p>That seemed to both trouble and confuse her, but he couldn’t think why. Not everyone was fortunate enough to have a large house left to them, and Gold’s Victorian home was so rarely used, he didn’t often waste too much time worrying about <em> space</em>. It was only him who ever used it.</p><p>Belle pulled back, and Gold had to reluctantly loosen his arm around her. She gave him a soft, uncertain smile, and he easily returned it.</p><p>“You could… bring it here,” she suggested.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your collection.” She moved back almost entirely, but her hands stayed on his sides, underneath his blazer. “You could bring your collection here and display it. I want to sell some of my father’s collection, and a very handsome auctioneer I know offered to help me sell them.”</p><p>Gold huffed a laugh. “That was generous of him.”</p><p>Belle’s smile grew.</p><p>“Then I’ll have plenty of room to hang your collection. And there’s always the library, if we run out of room.”</p><p>He looked down, to where Belle rocked forward onto the tips of her ballet flats.</p><p>“I’m not sure how I feel about having them in someone else’s home,” he confessed.</p><p>“So you’re saying…” She fell back onto the heels of her feet, and Gold looked up to find her smiling hopefully at him. “You come with the collection?”</p><p>He swallowed and almost lost his breath at the same time. Clearing his throat, Gold reached up to fix his tie, but Belle did it for him. With a knowing spark in her eyes, she straightened his already straight tie and smoothed her hand down the front of his suit.</p><p>He cleared his throat again.</p><p>“I can if you want,” Gold said, his throat a hoarse whisper.</p><p>With a pleased smile, Belle fussed with the front of his suit. She clearly needed something to do with her hands, to help her with the anxiety that was still always in the back of her mind. Gold gripped his cane, letting her do whatever she needed to stay calm, and waited while her smile slowly faded and turned apologetic.</p><p>“I’m sorry for ghosting you,” she said. “I said I was sure and then I-- I still panicked. But I’m going to be brave now, and I <em> am </em> sure.”</p><p>“You don’t need to apologise. It’s--”</p><p>“I do. It wasn’t fair to you, Roman.” Belle pressed her hands flat against his chest and looked at him imploringly. She had beautiful eyes.</p><p>Gold covered her hand with his own and nodded.</p><p>“Apology accepted.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but it seemed to be. Belle’s shoulders slumped with relief, and she nodded in return. </p><p>“Would you still like to move in?” she asked.</p><p>“I would,” he said without thought or hesitation. He didn’t need to think about it. He already knew that if he was going to live with anyone, and if anyone was going to understand and accept his compulsions without annoyance or frustration, it would be Belle.</p><p>Making up his mind, Gold awkwardly slipped off his gloves, whilst still leaning against his cane to steady him. His heart raced, his hands shook, but it wasn’t only anxiety that made him nervous. It was Belle. She stood in front of him, smiling and happy, and understood exactly what it meant when he reached out with his bare hand to hold hers. She held his back just as tight, and couldn’t stop smiling.</p><p>“Maybe you could give me a tour?” he suggested. “You could show me the paintings you’d like to sell.”</p><p>“You can tell me which paintings you’d like to keep,” Belle suggested.</p><p>“What if your auctioneer friend would like to buy them from you?”</p><p>She pressed her lips together, in that way he’d come to realise she did when she was trying not to laugh.</p><p>“He’ll give me a fair valuation.”</p><p>“How can you be so sure?” Gold teased.</p><p>Shrugging, Belle smiled sweetly and leaned forward.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” she asked. Gold didn’t need to think about it before he licked his lips and nodded.</p><p>She pressed herself up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft, gentle press of their lips, but one that he eagerly returned. She leaned back with a pleased smile.</p><p>“I know him,” she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’re moving in together.”</p><p>They shared a smile, and Gold knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was making the right decision. Belle gave him another kiss, gently tugged on his hand, and led him up the stairs to show him around her home.</p>
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